Overon
by Grand Puba of All The Smurfs
Summary: Overon was a mortal when Zeus chose him to be God of the New Age. Cute little oneshot I made for a school project. Review and Zeus doesn't zap your ass.


A\N-Just a thing I made for school that my pain-in-the-ass sister insisted I put on here.

Overon

On Mount Olympus, when Apollo was just riding his golden chariot across the dawning sky, Zeus woke up with a yawn and a realization. He had been noticing changes overcoming the mortal world over the last few centuries. They all became more independent, able to make decisions for themselves. This troubled Zeus, as he and his god's workloads increased with each new invention. In unfolding of these new wonderments, Zeus decided to go on search of a new god.

Looking down from his cloud to the earth below, he scanned the very folds of Greece until he happened upon the perfect man for the job. Overon, a boasting, impish mortal, was sitting in a tree, wildly text-messaging on his cell phone. Zeus reached down and pulled the young man up to his cloud by the hair, placing him roughly by his toe.

"Hello, there!" The mighty god greeted his recruit, who curled into a ball and whimpered in fright, cell phone still in in hand.

"What do you want?" He squeaked, making Zeus chuckle.

"Why, you, of course! Allow me to explain…"

So he, Zeus, informed young Overon of his impending dilemma. The boy's chest swelled with pride with each word, until he positively could not breath. Only then did Zeus finish with an inquiry of whether or not he'd like to be the God of the New Age. It did not take an oracle to determine Overon's answer, and within the hour he had become the newest god since Aphrodite's son Eros was born.

Immediately, he began work. At first, the stick of a boy did well. He helped with the creation and control of newfangled gadgets--the laptop, the iPod, the DS, to name a few--as well as many medicines and remedies for ailing folk. The mortals worshipped their hero, while the god's were merely glad to have their workload hauled.

The happy days did not last, taking a turn for the worst one fateful morning when Demeter awoke for her daily harvesting of all the natural land. When floating to her forest, however, she was horrified to discover it had been shriveled to the remnants of stumps and ashes. Furious, the goddess stormed over to a bulldozer beginning work again, with Overon behind the wheel.

When she fumed her concerns, the new god just laughed. "It's progress!" He replied giddily. Enraged, she tried to beckon her remaining woodland creatures, but before she could do so, _SWISH, _Overon had waved his hand in the air faster then the eye of a hurricane. In an instant, Demeter had been sucked into a pitch cell by a flailing computer cord.

This was not the end of the complaints. When completed with his domination of the forests, Overon had built a complex maze of buildings, which he called a city. The 'cars' gave off intoxicating fumes that floated to the sky, burning Apollo horribly. His sun's heat beat down the barrier Apollo had worked so long on, raining horrible rays of blasted heat upon the earth. Fires caught and spread into the remaining tree clusters--too small to be called woods or forests--burning them. Apollo gave his complaint to the gangly Overon, who grinned and repeated the mantra that he used with Demeter: "It's progress!" With another flick of his hand, the very same computer chord swept Apollo away to a cell with Demeter, who grew irritable and impatient.

This very same fate awaited Aphrodite, angered by the ugliness of the cities, and Narcissus, whose reflection was lost when the pipes began unloading in his lake. These two, and many others, were sent to the cells, which were placed lower than Pluto's oasis in the dirt.

Zeus wised up to this trickery of the foolish Overon. Locating the cells as to be the basement of a hammer factory, he forced Overon to lead him there. After unleashing the fuming gods and goddesses of Olympus, all the young man could do was say, feebly, like a question,

"It's progress…?"

If you are confused about the outcome of this tale, here's a math problem for you: One hundred gods, a slimy mortal who locked them up, and a factory of hammers equals…fun for the gods.

That, as they say, was that.


End file.
